


The Price Of Silence

by Andian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blackmail, Hand Jobs, M/M, Protective Siblings, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andian/pseuds/Andian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft did not really enjoy having to do business with Magnussen. Especially not this kind. However, business was business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price Of Silence

Everything had its price. Mycroft knew that, knew the price of having a few treaties delayed or completely forgotten, some information to be either not seen again or to be seen only by the right people and he knew the price of silence.  
It was always about silence when it came to Sherlock. Such dramatics, such little understanding for restraint or the necessity of it. 

Brash, loud, arrogant, foolish.

He supposed that one of the only things speaking in favor of Magnussen was, that he was nothing of this. Even now, Mycroft's hand on his cock, moving with what other – normal - people would probably consider unnervingly slow movements he did not show any signs of actual arousal. 

His cock was hard in Mycroft's hand, no mistake there, leaking on him. Normally he'd use a handkerchief for this or his mouth but Magnussen had insisted. Insisted in a very calm and business like manner.

Had insisted with a smile and a question about Sherlock. He was silent now, breathing normally while his eyes were fixed on Mycroft, not wavering for even a moment.

Mycroft angled his hand, quickening his movements a bit. This was not new to him. There was little that Magnussen could actually do to him that he hadn't already done.  
The reason for doing it though, the reason had changed.

“I was talking with the ambassador today.”

Mycroft nodded, feeling the wet tip of Magnussen's cock move against his wrist.

“I assume you're going to be at the dinner this Friday?” he asked. For one brief moment he saw them sitting there, two man in expensive suits and ties, even more  
expensive brandy in front of them, exchanging polite small talk as if one didn't had his hand around the others cock.

The physical aspect of it meant so little to Magnussen, almost as little as it meant Mycroft and he had vomited once and then never again after the first time he had done this, back then when he thought brain was all that was needed in this world that was like water to him, so unbearable slow and suffocating. But brain got you to the desk of the most dangerous people in the world and then not further. If you wanted to beat them you had to join them in their game, their dull, little game they enjoyed playing so much, that Sherlock enjoyed playing too. Sherlock, who still thought that brain was all that was needed. That he would always win the game.

For the first time in a long time he thought of hands in his hair pushing him down on his knees and had to suppress a shudder.

He wondered if this was why Magnussen didn't want him to use his mouth. Wanted to save it for later. He suddenly tasted bile.  
Once again he quickened his movements on Magnussen's cock, the wish to get it over growing stronger and stronger with every passing second.

“So fast. Do you want to get rid of me so quickly, Mycroft?”

If it wasn't a sign of humanity, of this illogical reactions that blinded everybody -even Sherlock- and dulled their already fogged minds even more, he'd have said that he hated Magnussen's smile. 

But it would mean caring. It would mean seeing this than more than a business transaction, a price that had to be paid, for his country or for Sherlock, and where was the difference at this point.

It was getting on his knees when he had been young and not stupid, but less experienced, it was raising an eyebrow before feeling Magnussen come over his hand, the wetness slowly dripping down.  
It was paying up. Nothing else.

“Now, I think that the past of John's fiancee would actually not be as interesting to Sherlock as I have previously thought. Wouldn't you agree Mycroft?”

For silence. Cause silence wasn't brash and loud and arrogant and foolish. Silence wouldn't go and get himself killed for caring, caring so much, and making him care so much in return.

“I do think so.”

He knew the price of silence and it was almost as high as the price of caring.


End file.
